Born To Be Wild
by Apollo Wings
Summary: The last incarcerated and glorious moments we see of Miss Rosa in Season 2. Contains spoilers. Rated T for swearing.


**Disclaimer:**** I have not received, nor do I expect monetary reimbursment for this piece of fanfiction. Owned by Netflix, not moi.**

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**Born To be Wild**

What was she, after being so great and mighty, an accursed Black Widow that was dying locked up? A bald woman living on nothing better than porridge that tasted like snot and looking forward to chemotherapy because one of the prison guards would by her a Pepsi?

It was no life. But soon it would be over, so what good did it do to mope about it.

"You shouldn't die in here Miss Rosa," The accented, Lorna Morello turned her head from the driver's seat, pushing down her sunglasses with one finger, her lips of cherry red seemed to stop moving as the meaning of the words sunk through the layers of her consciousness. "I'll leave the keys in the van. An honest mistake. Die on your terms." She said slowly, the words chewed through her mouth with an impish grin. Dumbly, she felt herself nodding, letting it all run through a brain that despite so much, had never been truly institutionalised.

Her lollipop girl. Rosa smiled, a sudden weigh freeing itself from her chest and the broiling, twisting in her abdomen far back in the edges of her mind as she looked toward the plain keys of the prison issue van, still in the ignition as her lollipop girl walked casually out. It was perfect, executed with utmost art, in that moment, Rosa was proud, so very proud.

Then the old adrenaline kicked in. With more exuberance than she'd had in years, Rosa squeezed through the gap over the handbrake that lead to that driver's seat.

Still warm. Stolen perhaps. Indeed… it would be!

There was no thought behind it, the animal instinct taking over as she turned the key of the ignition, felt the indomitable purr of the diesel engine through the pedals under her feet.

And the bald woman, dying of an invisible, cowardly disease pushed down on the acceleration, the pedal to the wild, lost emotions that would grip her chest as a young woman. It thrummed through her, igniting her bones in a passion she'd not known and craved with every second, every glance out the high, barred windows to see the sky. Be it clouded or perfectly blue, grey and sleeting with rain, or so white it looked frozen solid, it was where she yearned to be, where she needed to be.

Her mouth was dry, her palms slick with sweat, and heart racing as she noticed the black prison guard and her lollipop girl run after the speeding, nondescript white van by the rear-view mirror. Perfectly executed. The pride was a mother having taught a daughter how to read. Such a clever girl.

Rosa left those people behind her as she focussed on the rapid moving tarmac, a granular path that shifted beneath the tires and urged her to move the hulk of her getaway car onward, faster and faster lest the road run out, lest she be lost the unenviable void behind her.

Her mouth twitched in amusement, seeing a gaggle of elderly women and the fat guard standing in the road, some sort of dispute happening between the two. Ah, but it was the nuns! She revved the engine, excited by the purr and rattle of it as they scattered before her speeding van like pigeons before a big cat. She crashed through the striped red and white barrier and the wave of freedom crashed through the dying patient, powerful and hungry for more.

Rosa would not die in prison. She felt every bit of her aches, her horrid condition flit away again, her hands tightening around the steering wheel and wide grin that cracked the edges of her abused, dry lips. For one brief infinitesimal moment she was with the men she had loved, cursed to die, her hair was long and beautiful, curly and bouncing on her shoulders with the wind that poured in through the open window. She could feel the gold rings on her fingers, almost knuckle-dusters there were so many, each worth a small fortune.

With one hand on the steering wheel still and one delving into her bra for the stolen $43 dollars, her share that she had stolen with the aid of a fellow patient at the hospital. It just smelled so good, there was nothing like the smell of money, the feeling that what you held in your hand was a ticket to have anything you could ever want.

Her eyes narrowed, noticing a figure, black with large hair and even from this distance she could see that smug face. Without even looking up, the cow put a hand out to hitchhike. Rosa whet her lips, taking a deep smell from the $43 dollars, feeling every cent of it fill her.

70 miles per hour. That could kill a person. And Vee was such a rude person.

She jerked to the side of the road, pushing with every ounce of weight she could put through her leg into the accelerator, the look on the bitches face when she saw the driver, knew she was going to die… Rosa had always said it.

Nobody fucked with cancer.


End file.
